


Crumbles

by it_was_so_human



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, My first au ever so basically expect awkward phrasing and even more awkward narrative choices, Poorly written smut alert, happy holidays!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_was_so_human/pseuds/it_was_so_human
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re a piece of work, aren’t you? Showing up with (inedible) baked goods when his family died in a bakery accident. (But she just wanted to return the favor.) (And she just wanted him to be a little less alone. She knows how lonely the Holidays can get.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crumbles

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo... I'm still figuring out how to write sentences. Tying ideas together? With words? It's proven to be like super hard. Maybe the third time will be a charm? Gah.
> 
> (I’ve been trying finish a super angsty multi-part story with a similar storyline for ages, but it never really got there. I thought reworking it as a fluffier Christmas-friendly one-shot was a way to get it out of my system for now.) 
> 
> Merry Holidays!

Katniss Everdeen was the sullenest person in the history of the world to ever wear a Santa hat.  

She did however have perfectly jolly flushed cheeks, thanks to an upper respiratory infection and mild fever.

She coughed violently into her elbow, earning a disapproving glare from the woman in front of her clutching bags of holiday shopping. Katniss gave a tight smile—one she hoped read,“I’ve-been-on-antibiotics-for-24-hours-now-and-am-no-longer-contagious, just-gross.”

As she carefully folded cashmere cardigans into gift boxes and neatly lined the sparkly snowflake wrapping paper, Katniss bit her tongue to resist snapping something along the lines of “if-I-had-the-choice-I-wouldn’t -to-be-here-either-don’t-worry.”

She hates seasonal jobs. They may help build a small savings fund for the inevitable rainy days, but unlike her job at the bar they came without the option for sick days.

She woke up Saturday unable to get out of bed, too weak to even force herself to the kitchen for water. But when there’s no one to take care of you, your immune system learns to kick in and by Monday afternoon she was at the mall for her shift to gift wrap the True-Meaning-of-Christmas. 

The next few rounds of ribbons and novelty items and ugly crystal centerpieces and green-and-red plaid wrapping paper blur together, until she looks up to greet the next customer—

And is instead met with the bluest eyes known to man.

Familiar blue eyes that make her shiver with a strange mixture of dread and hopefulness.   

“Peeta!” she exclaims trying to quickly smooth over her surprise with “How are you?” all the while hating the congested tone of her voice.

 She observes his rumpled blond hair and broad muscular shoulders that even his heavy North Face jacket couldn’t camouflage as he nods curtly in response and places a few bags in front of her.

“Doing some holiday shopping I see,” she says forcing a laugh.  _Ugh, what an insightful observation Katniss._

She pulls things out of the shopping bags including a book, a few scarves, a pretty painted teapot, and a jewelry box.

Peeta Mellark picked out some decent gifts.  Including some decent gifts for a _woman_.

No one ever accused Katniss of being a talker, but apparently today she couldn’t shut up around Peeta Mellark.

“Oh, who are these for?” she asks cordially trying to ease the odd tension in the air as she worked wrapping the gifts more efficiently than she ever had in her life. 

As soon as the words leave her, she fears there’s too much of a judgmental tone in her voice. Like she was questioning  _who he possibly had left to buy presents for_.  

She looks up in time to catch his disturbed expression.  _He looks so young and so lost._

"For friends,” he finally responds gruffly.

(Being Peeta Mellark’s friend was a distinction she was not able to claim for a long time, if ever.) 

“Well, I’m sure they’ll love them,” she manages to smile as she finishes curling the last ribbon.

She can’t help but feel her heart sinks as he walks away, the realization hitting her that even the kindest boy in Panem is no longer able to speak to her.

…

She was telling the truth at least.

She had no doubt any gift he picked out would be well received.

Because Peeta Mellark, being as considerate as he is, was always an exceptional gift-giver. Even at the age of 11.

Who else could remember a Christmas treat for a newly father-less girl when even her own mother couldn’t be bothered?

When her father died the fall of sixth grade and her mother slipped into a deep depression, 11-year-old Katniss was left trying to scrape some  semblance of normality for herself and her little sister.

She had long given up hope of bringing any Christmas cheer home to Prim when their minimal savings were already stretched for the basics.

But Peeta Mellark, of all people somehow remembered. Exceedingly popular already, he was never a friend but there he was shoving a large tin in her hand the last day before break—his blue eyes shining brightly behind a blooming black eye. 

He nodded kindly at her urging her to take it. She looked down in shock at the container wrapped in a bright red bow, but by the time she looked up he had already disappeared into the crowd.

When she opened the box outside the school grounds, she almost gasped in awe. Inside were the most beautifully decorated Christmas cookies she’d ever seen. 

Christmas trees with individual ornaments she could make out, snowmen dressed in scarves and hats, reindeers wearing Santa hats.

She pulled one out one of the snow-covered houses and delicately held it in the palm of her glove, fascinated by the icicles hanging from its shingles. 

She put the cookie back inside its box, secured the lid, and held the gift close to her as she ran home.

That evening Katniss and Prim sat by the radiator covered in their Dad’s old hunting jacket, eating cookies and watching Christmas specials on the television. Somehow it was a much more pleasant holiday than Katniss could have ever imagined.

(She was never able to thank him however, the embarrassment too much.) 

And that memory of contentment bordering on joy was partially why Katniss couldn’t seem to get the image of today’s Peeta Mellark out of her head. His eyes so clouded by grief. Such a contrast to those striking bright ones that just _sparked_ with life whenever they caught hers across the hallway years later.

She remembered that day this past June so clearly, waiting to pay her respects at the Mellark’s memorial service. She rocked back and forth on her heels wondering if it was best for her to just leave without approaching the youngest son who survived the bakery gas leak by being tucked away in his college campus a week before graduation. 

She didn’t want to say something stupid like,  _I’m so grateful it wasn’t you_.

He looked so lost, his beautiful blue eyes so devoid of any light that her heart ached. 

She wanted to move to hug him, wrap him in her arms and keep him safe. Run her hands through his hair and tell him he was going to be okay.

Instead she clenched her fist even tighter her sides, nails digging into skin when she finally reached him. 

For a moment his eyes flashed in recognition, as if surprised to see her before a mechanical—

“Thank you for coming, Katniss.”

And then he was on to the next person. 

…

Fuck you, Martha Stewart.

Katniss doesn’t know what she’s doing. (A sentiment applicable to most parts of her life, but especially baking.)

They looked so simple in theory.

Martha Stewart even had the audacity to claim they were  _easy_.

The Domestic Goddess, who by the way was totally imprisoned for insider trading or something  so why was Katniss listening to her anyways, was being generous (or condescending) when she named them “Easy Bake” Christmas Cookies.   

There was nothing  _easy_  about these little fuckers.

Katniss huffs at the mess in front of her that looked like the North Pole spilled over on her kitchen counter. Bags of red and green icing, gumdrops, and candy canes littered all over.

It was most Christmas joy she ever allowed her tiny apartment. (Prim used to love cutting up those paper snowflakes with used paper and hanging them from every inch of their home, but Katniss was far too old and tired for that.)

She just wanted to return the favor. And she just wanted him to feel a little less lonely. 

Peeta’s vacant eyes terrified her and while she knew in the rational part her mind that someone with as many friends as him could hardly be alone this Christmas… she couldn’t shake off how empty he looked.

She needed to do this.  

(She doesn’t really have too many people in her life. No one really to exchange Christmas gifts with since Gale moved to Chicago. She once bought her boss at the bar a sweater. It didn’t go over exceptionally well with Haymitch.)

But instead all she has to offer are the third batch of burnt broken cookies crumbled in front of her. Just presenting her with a messy on-the-nose metaphor for her entire life. 

But she tried to remain positive. II was the icing that really made the cookies, she reasons. Katniss picks the healthiest pieces, even crushing some of the crumbled ones together, before layering them with icing and pedestrian designs.

They weren’t beautiful, but as they laid the cookies to dry she felt a certain amount of satisfaction.

So she layers them gently in the largest plastic container she owns and slides them into a gift bag. (Seriously more efficient than wrapping paper.)

And twenty minutes later she finds herself outside the Mellark home, willing her hand to stop shaking before knocking—

Only to be greeted by Delly Cartwright and her cheerful face and bouncy blond hair.

“Katniss!” she exclaims as if they were reunited best friends, and not barely acquainted with one another. “What brings you here?” 

 _What brought Delly here_  a grumbling part of her that Katniss tried to quell wanted to know. Which was silly, Delly was one of Peeta’s closest friends. And it’s not like she knew what his relationship status was after six years, she realized remembering the gifts he had wrapped last week. 

“Hi Delly, I just wanted to drop something off… Are you back for the holidays or…”

“Oh you know, doing that whole living-with-the-parents-post-graduation-unpaid-internship-fingers-crossed-it-leads-to-something-real thing,” she laughs before continuing on about being back in Panem. 

She suddenly spots the bag Katniss was holding, “But oh, this is for Peeta? He’s away right now, but I’ll grab it from you… unless you want to give it to him yourself?”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary.” Katniss shrugs in what she hopes was a nonchalant way before handing it off to her.

“Awesome, I’ll make sure he knows. But you could tell him yourself—this Friday at my Holiday Party. You have to be there, it’ll be so much fun since so many of us are home this winter!”

Katniss has an excuse on the tip of her tongue when Delly interrupts, “I remember back in school that Peeta said he had the best time with you. I’m sure it would mean a lot to him.”

And that’s all it took.

…

 He was the best group project partner possible. 

He was completely flexible, planning their meetings around her shifts at Sae’s and evenings watching Prim despite his own demanding schedule of wrestling practices, debate club meetings, and hours at his family’s bakery.

He was smart and meticulous and made a semester long AP history research project almost fun.

And he was  _funny_.

Katniss knew she wasn’t the easiest person to get along with and she acknowledged that. She was okay with it even—she barely had time to begin with.

Somehow despite their varied personalities she found there was a comfortable ease being around Peeta Mellark.

At 16, Peeta had mastered the art of playful self-deprecation. He didn’t take himself too seriously, which came in handy when it came to dancing with Prim in the Everdeen’s tiny living room to Taylor Swift (something Katniss adamantly refused to participate in.)

(He enthusiastically claimed, as Katniss rolled her eyes, that Taylor Swift was a star. Just wait and see, the girl was here to stay.)

Katniss wasn’t the most accommodating of people, but she found herself responding to his undeniable charm.

Katniss even ignored the times she saw him doodling in his notebook—when he thought she wasn’t looking—someone who looked remarkably like  _her_. 

And she couldn’t help how her stomach would flutter when he playfully nudged her with his elbow.

And even though she was dreading the start of junior year since Gale was off to college, it was surprisingly far more enjoyable than expected.

Because sometimes they would  _have_ to coordinate during their lunch period and he would bring cheese buns from the bakery.

And sometimes the occasional study break would be necessary and they would watch a movie, supplementing the dialogue with their own obnoxious commentary—battling each other for the more absurd observation. 

And sometimes she looked at him and couldn’t help but realize how attached she had gotten in such a short amount of time.

And despite the time commitment, she was almost sad when their project was over. 

And so when he declared they must celebrate their hard won A+ by going to Delly Cartwright’s Holiday Party, she couldn’t refuse his dopey, lopsided, utterly charming grin even if she wanted to. 

“Then you’ll allow it?” he confirmed a smile drawing on his lips.

“I’ll allow it.”

They were friends now after all.

He picked her up that night and she managed to only blush slightly when he looked at her dress in awe and said earnestly that she looked beautiful in red.

They were  _just friends_ , right? 

The party was crowded with people she barely knew—the wealthy popular kids she generally avoided.

He put hand lightly on her elbow, and helped guide her through the room smiling and exchanging small conversations with almost everyone he passed but staying close to only her. The gentle touch sent a buzz that radiated throughout her whole body. 

He stayed close to her because he knew he was her  _only_   _friend_  here. (Or perhaps because he wanted to be with  _only her_?)

And somehow they ended up on couch in an isolated corner of the Cartwrights’ basement with her head resting on his shoulder.  

And it might have been the lights twinkling and a feeling of warmth she could attribute to either Peeta’s proximity or the spiked cider (but really realistically if she was being honest, just Peeta.) 

When she moved her head and turned to face him, his eyes went wide and he gave her a questioning look that she answered by firmly planting her lips on his.  

And suddenly Peeta Mellark was kissing her. It was strange, and a bit awkward… and  _wonderful_.

His lips radiated warmth as they gently moved over hers, his hands laid chastely on her hips but his thumbs drew small circles that tingled throughout her body.  

When they pulled apart, his smile was so wide that her confusion quickly disappeared into wide grin of her own. 

Her first  _real_  kiss, and with Peeta Mellark too. It seemed like the odds were in her favor. 

But of course they weren’t. Three weeks later shoddy wiring in the Seam Housing Complex sparked a fire—and her baby sister, the person she loved most in the world, died from smoke inhalation.

And the carefully balanced lives that the Everdeen women reconstructed over the past five years shattered, leaving room for little else but anger and grief.

Leaving room for little else, including golden boys with their whole lives ahead of them who would leave after graduation and never have a reason to come back to Panem. Meanwhile Katniss knew her immediate and distant future alike would be staying home forever mourning the loss of her perfect little sister and caring for her mother. She was too broken now.

So when Peeta Mellark tried to meet her eyes in the hallway, or place a light comforting hand on her shoulder before class—she responded with the angriest look possible or forcefully shrugged off his gentle touch. 

Until he eventually stopped altogether. 

… 

Six years after and Delly’s house was still as beautiful decked in twinkling lights and a tall majestic tree.

Apparently she had graduated from parties in the basement to the main rooms of the house. Very grown up.

Katniss didn’t know why she was here. The people present were never her friends in school.

But when she saw those blue eyes across the room she couldn’t lie. 

She knew exactly why. 

“KATNISSSSS,” she turns and sees Delly smile at her brightly, only slightly inebriated. “I’m so happy you’re hereeeeee. Peeeeetaaaa, Katniss is hereeeee.” 

Well, perhaps slightly more than slightly.

Katniss gives her a small indulgent smile, which was invitation enough for Delly to wrap her arms around her before whispering in her ear, “He’s going to be so happy to see you.”

Katniss tries to hide her shock as Delly firmly pushes her towards Peeta, who is leaning against the wall. Wearing a perfect sullen expression on his face, as if he was doing his best Katniss Everdeen impersonation. 

She awkwardly moves to stand next to him, mirroring his angle against the wall.

He doesn’t acknowledge her at first.

But a new song starts, a  _Taylor Swift_  song, and she hears Peeta snort.

“So Mellark, still think she’s—“ 

“The voice of our generation? You better believe it, Everdeen,” he asserts. 

“You know, I read that she can bake. Sounds like the perfect type for you.” 

He quirks up an eyebrow, amused.

Their arms are so close they’re practically grazing, and she feels the warmth radiate off of him. He doesn’t move away and neither does she.

“You know you don’t owe me anything, Katniss,” he finally says frowning deeply.   

Katniss cringes at his bluntness, wanting to disappear completely. She takes a moment to gather herself. “So my cookies were that bad, huh?”

His is frown is replaced by a surprised chuckle. There’s silence, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. 

“They weren’t so bad. You could have asked your mom for help though, you know in high school she used to work at the….” his voice trails off.

She feels her throat tighten, “I would, but I haven’t seen her in over five years.” 

She feels him grow tense and after a moment he turns to look at her, an apology etched on his face.

She tries to shrug it off casually, “But there’s still no excuse for those sad cookies.”

His thumb gently grazed her hand. Katniss spent so long deprived of human touch that she felt such unbearable glow at the slightest contact.

Across the room, Delly and Thom are wrapped in a deep embrace. She is surprised to see the bubbly girl with Gale’s old friend with the serious temperament, but she’s also  _relieved_.

Peeta notices the direction she’s looking and shrugs, “It happened last year. They’re actually pretty great for one other.” 

“Oh, that’s great.” And she can’t hide the wistfulness as she thinks to herself, “It must be nice.” 

Katniss just wants the earth to swallow her whole when she realizes she’s said it out loud.

But instead Peeta turns to look at her again and nods, “Yah. I know what you mean.”

She tried so hard not to miss things, but she missed so much. She missed  _him_. The fireplace roared nearby and the room was pleasantly glowing and she felt at peace for the first time in so very long. 

So she leans closer to him, pressing her lips to his.

He feels so wonderful against her and she trembles at the contact. His lips as warm and soft as Katniss remembered. She becomes more enthusiastic as she feels his hands move to her shoulders, moving her own towards his hair—before realizing that he remains completely stiff.

Then she feels Peeta firmly pushes her away, his expression not hiding his disgust.

“You should go, Katniss,” he says. 

Oh.

She jumps back as if she had been burnt nodding, turning to leave before she did something stupid, like cry.

… 

It was stupid of her to think that tiny bit of time shared together all those years back would carry any weight now.

And it was unreasonable to hold him to a trivial affectionate exchange back in school that could hardly survive in his memory after exciting college romances.

It was wrong of her to try and take advantage of him now that she thought that  _maybe_  he was just as broken as she was. Because a nagging voice told her there was a huge difference between surviving and living, and maybe Peeta could help her with the latter. 

And she rationalized that Peeta’s loss was still raw. She was barely able to function years later; it was abysmal of her to be so upset with him. 

Especially when she was the one who first pushed him away.

But it was hard to be sensible when she closes her eyes at night and only sees his cool rejecting stare.

…

She’s at work, smiling tersely at the man in front of her who finally agreed that the tissue paper she tucked into his gift bag was the right complimentary shade of blue. 

Katniss feels herself physically flinch when she sees Peeta next in line.

He doesn’t say anything, instead silently sliding a large tin towards her and pointing to a wrapping paper patterned with dark green pine trees.

Katniss frowns trying to navigate the paper neatly around the long cylindrical shape that wouldn’t allow for the sharp corner folds she preferred.

She focuses intently on her wrapping, avoiding his eyes. 

Finally deciding it was as perfect as it could be, she stuck on an obnoxious matching bow and slid the package back to Peeta.

She gasps as his hands catch hers, holding them in his large warm ones before lifting them to his lips. He places a firm kiss on her right palm.

Katniss look up at him in shock, but he simply slides the newly wrapped item back to her.

“Merry Christmas, Katniss.” 

He walks away, and she considers just loudly tossing the gift in the trashcan while he was still in hearing distance—

But instead she opens the gift the second she slides into her car that evening, her fingers carefully peeling off the tape and folding the paper to the side before lifting the lid from the tin revealing perfect gingerbread men and women. 

Tears prickle the side of her eyes as she observes the beautiful little creations made with such care. They were even dressed in mittens and scarves and  _earphones_.

Her hands shaking as she runs through her phone’s address book, fearing he had changed his number in the past six years as it started to ring unanswered until—

“Hello,” he greets breathlessly. “Katniss?” Her name tinged with equal parts reluctance and hope. 

There is no hiding the heavy tears that now result in a thick flatteringly snotty voice as she forces something—anything out. 

“But… but… I want sugar cookies.” 

_Well, it was something_

She hears what sounds like a combination of a choked sob and laugh from the other end.

… 

Late that night she’s lying on her couch fighting an age-old battle between whether to eat dinner or just give in to sleep, when she hears a knock on the door. 

She frowns but then her stomach starts to flutter with butterflies when she realizes who it could possibly be. 

She rushes to the door, cracking it open without looking through the peephole.

Outside stands Peeta, blond curls in disarray and scarf disheveled. 

“You ordered sugar cookies?” he asks, holding her large Tupperware box. His head is quirked to the side almost  _adorably_.

Peeta Mellark and his tonal shifts were going to be the death of her. She feels like her body will start shaking under the weight of confusion and self-denial. 

She steps to the side and allows him in, but he doesn’t leave the entryway.

“Katniss, please don’t do anything because you feel sorry for me. I can’t—“ 

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” she scolds. “Besides, I’m not that gracious.”

He hesitates before continuing.

“I really liked you—so much,” he said giving her a half-hearted smile. “Even when I was a kid, I had such a thing for the girl with two dark braids.” 

Katniss winces at the past tense, but he grasps her hand. “I still do, but I’m in a bad place right now.”

She swallows thickly, refusing to meet his eyes.  “I understand.”

“I’m working on it. I’m trying to get better. I want to be whole again for you, Katniss. I wouldn’t risk this chance with anything less.”  

His voice is so earnest, so the  _Peeta_  she remembers. 

She frowns—she’s not completely whole. Not even close, because some days she feels like a crumbled broken cookie. But sometimes two broken cookies pieces can fit together?

(Katniss wasn’t one for metaphors, but it felt appropriate.)

“But maybe we can just work on that together. As friends. You don’t have to leave. Watch a lame Christmas special with me. “She smiles holding up the box her handed to her—“I even have cookies… Stay, Peeta.“

 He gives her a reluctant smile before nodding in affirmation.

“But can we order some pizza or something? To balance out your sugar intake?”

She snorts. “Of course we can.  Pizza, very healthy.”

And he breaks out into a truly genuine grin and his arms are suddenly wrapped around her, pulling her close to him.

“So you want to stay then?” she confirms, her face pressed into his shoulder inhaling cinnamon and nutmeg and  _Peeta_.  

She thinks she hears him whisper almost as a refrain into her hair something along the lines of  “always, Katniss.” 

…

**_12 Months Later_ **

“Are you feeling better?” A cheery voice sing-songs from the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Peeta,” she grumbles from the coach. Where she sits wearing a dopey sweater. With prancing reindeer and snowflakes,

She’s strategically tucked in under a blanket with hot chocolate in one hand and a thermometer in the other.

She groans as he comes out carrying a large bowl of soup—today’s sweater decked in gingerbread men and Christmas trees worn completely without irony.

He places the bowl on the coffee table and sits next to her placing a hand on her neck feeling for a high temperature that didn’t exist.

Years of being on her own hadn’t prepared her for Peeta. Sometimes he just _coddled_ her. It was suffocating. It was too much.

And it was  _okay_. 

(Sometimes he needed to take care of her, because it helped him.

And sometimes she needed his arms around her the whole night to shake off the nightmares.

And sometimes he needed her to help walk him through a daze of anger and confusion.

And sometimes they would sit alone in silence while he painted and she read but they just  _couldn’t_  leave the house.)

Katniss tries another strategy. She plops down her mug and pulls of the blanket. She leans in to speak clearly into his ear.

“I’m fine, Peeta. Actually—I’m more than fine. In fact I feel so good, I would rather do some  _other stuff_.” 

“Other stuff.” Never say Katniss Everdeen wasn’t a seductress. An  _eloquent_ seductress.

But it works for Peeta Mellark who lets out a soft moan she takes advantage of as she pulls him by his stupid sweater—practically his uniform since December 1st—and meshes his mouth to hers.

She smiles against his lips. What a difference a year makes. 

It starts slowly but quickly moves towards frantic as he deepens the kiss, her fingers working up the hem of his sweater.

Katniss grins victorious as she manages get him to remove the offending garment, rewarded as she spread her hands over an expanse of defined shoulders, firm muscles, and warmth.

She pulls apart to stroke his face teasing,  “Uh oh, now you’ve gotten sick too.”

“We’ll get through it. Together,” he laughs moving to tug off her leggings.

She sighs as she feels familiar heated kisses up her leg, his hands caressing her inner thighs before gently working off her underwear.  

Her eyes close tightly as she feels the first touch of his tongue followed by another then deep rhythmic strokes followed by a swipe that causes her to grasp on to his curls to hold him in place until her breathing hitches and she whimpers his name. 

Buzzing she opens her eyes to see Peeta balanced on his forearms over her, wearing a very pleased expression.

He pushes stray strands of hair out of her face, his eyes so full of adoration that she feels tears build in hers. She holds him tightly against her, reveling in the weight and security and anticipation of further pleasure.

Peeta presses a firm kiss to her forehead, before tracing her jaw with his lips. 

“As much as I love that sweater of yours, I know I’d love taking it off more.”

She lets out a small groan disapproval at his cheesy lines, but as his hand creeps up underneath the material and his thumb grazes a taut peak it turns into one in appreciation of his ministrations. 

“Mmmmm. Yes,  _please_.”

 …

A Christmas tree sits in the corner of the room, dressed in white lights and delicate ornament.

He understands this time of year was hard for her so the decorations are toned down, but she remembers when he admitted that Christmas was his father’s favorite holiday and the only time his family felt together and happy and she knew she could never deny him this. 

Underneath the tree sit a handful of present in  _gift bags_. 

And on the shelf, currently draped in garlands of pine, sit pictures of their families. 

When she moved in a few months after Peeta got his new apartment, the first thing he shyly pointed out that he made space on the shelf on top of the fireplace for her if she would like it. 

The shelf where he placed photos of his brothers at soccer games, and his father in the bakery, and even his mother dressed for a fundraiser.

And so she placed a frame with a photo of Prim smiling brightly waving flowers at the camera. And another of her at five wearing two braids in the woods with her father as he beams down at her. 

The pain never disappears, but the constant dull ache lessens over time. 

And a little while later he added a photo of the two of them at a carnival, him proudly brandishing the child-sized bear she won him. 

And another last month of him with his arms wrapped tightly around her at Delly’s Halloween party.

There are good moments (good  _days_ and  _weeks_  even.)

Good moments like this, right now as they’re huddled on the couch freshly showered and wearing dorky fleece pajamas watching a bad Christmas special much in need of their narration skills.

“I love you, so much,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

He moves to pick up a tray from the coffee table and offers her the most perfectly intricate—take that, Martha Stewart—cookies on earth.  

She smiles as she takes the one shaped like little girl with two black braids dressed in a red coat. 

“I love you too.”


End file.
